


Meat Man

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Cleaning Out My Drive (MCU only) [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Art, Epiphanies, Gen, Jobs, Painting, Referenced PTSD, Referenced low self worth, Veterans getting jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 01:46:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11197878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: Bucky gets a job. So does Steve. Tony is confused.





	Meat Man

**Author's Note:**

> Unfinished. I have no idea where I wanted to go with this.

Bucky stared at the tiny, ancient woman in his doorway. She stared right back through her thick glasses, a frown plastered on her face. Bucky swallowed. “How late am I?”

“How long have you been living here?” Her voice scratches at the insomnia-induced hangover banging around his skull. “Boy, you haven’t paid me a cent since you broke into this building a month ago!”

Bucky blinked. “Uh, it’s been two weeks.”

“You questioning me?”

He’s immediately reminded of the lady that lived not two rooms away from Steve and his ma back in the old days. The same lady that dragged both boys up the stairs after yet another alley fight, shaking both of ‘em by the backs of their Sunday best while Sarah Rogers stood with hands on her hips and making angry noises at them. “No, ma’am. Not at all.” He found himself cringing, his tired bones remembering how to be shameful. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“Good. Because you’ve been in and out of this place for a month. Don’t tell me you haven’t.” She adjusted her glasses. “Now, by my books, you owe me a security deposit and three months -”

“Three!” Bucky clamped his mouth shut when Granny glared at him.

“ - Three months rent, plus utilities.”

Bucky groaned. “That’s a lot of money.” And after the mess in D.C., he’d been unable to get at the emergency stashes of cash, credit cards...all of it taken by the good guys. At least, the stuff he’d known about. Remembered, actually. Holy shit, he wanted to sleep. He needed to sleep. But the granny on his doorstep needed money. “Listen. I ain’t got any cash on me.”

“I take Visa.”

“That’s...I don’t have a Visa. I don’t have nothin’ at all.” Bucky groaned again. “I’ll find another place. I’ll be out of your hair by nightfall.” He had a couple places he could stay for a couple nights until he could find a flophouse.

“And me being out money? Don’t think you’re getting away with that, boy.” Granny squinted at him. “You’re going to get a job.”

Bucky blinked at her again. “What?”

“A job! Are you deaf as well as a layabout?”

“No ma’am.” He wanted to curl up under her scrutiny. Instead, he shuffled his feet and put his hands behind his back. What the hell’s up with him? He’s acting like a little boy, not an assassin with a metal fuckin’ arm! “I’m not deaf.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” She pointed her gnarled finger at him. “Find a job by Monday, get me money by Friday.” She shut his door behind her.

Bucky stared at the door. “It’s Sunday _now_. And I’m in my boxers.” He groaned. “Damn it.” He stalked over to the rickety kitchen table and snatched up his phone. A quick jab had Sam Wilson on the line in a couple seconds. “I need a job.”

“I need sleep, man,” Wilson grumbled over the speakerphone.

“I need a job by tomorrow.”

“Who’d you piss off?” Wilson sounded more awake, which helped Bucky immensely since he wasn’t sure if he was even awake or if he actually passed out and dreamt all of that. “And how am I going to help you?”

“Got any inroads with places willing to hire off the street? The landlady of the place I’m staying...well, she’s figured out I’m staying here. She told me to get off my ass and get a job.”

“Or else?”

“She didn’t really give me a choice,” Bucky muttered as he rummaged in the hamper for a clean pair of jeans.

“You in Manhattan?”

“Yeah. Old place is fulla hipsters. Outrageous rent. Can’t afford it anymore.” Which was such a fucking joke, honestly. Poorest place of all, and now it’s got artisanal this, custom that, and he wasn’t kidding about the gentrification of the place. It was a disgrace.

“Well, there might be a few places. I’ll text you a list. Check them out, then give me a call back, okay? Get a shower, get some food, maybe a pack of cigarettes while you’re at it.”

“Alright.” Bucky’s head was spinning. “I need to sleep somehow.”

“Unisom.”

“Supersoldier. Also, fucked up stomach.”

Sam sighed. “Yeah, okay. Take care, man.”

“You too. Thanks.” Bucky hung up, grabbed a tote bag Steve had gotten him off some website, and made tracks out his door and down to the street. The midday city blared at him, and he groaned. Halfway to a coffee house, his phone pinged with a message. He checked it and smiled. There was one address. Then he frowned. That one address was none other than the fucking Stark Tower. He typed out a response to Sam as he got in line for stupidly expensive coffee.

 _You, sir, are an asshole._ Send.

 

 

 

 

On second thought, Bucky didn’t need a job that badly. He walked through the crowds at the bottom of his nightmare, trying to find the damned place Sam sent him. He really should have sprung for the cigarettes. Suddenly, a stocky man appeared in front of him, hands on his hips and a messy white apron hung around his midsection. Bucky pulled up short, checking around himself for points of egress, assailants, and the normal shit he has to watch out for.

“Hey, buddy.” The man held out his hand. “Are you Barnes?”

Bucky stared at him, finally. “Uh. Yeah.” He held out his right hand. “James. Uh, they call me Bucky. Sometimes.”

The man shook his hand enthusiastically. “Yeah, Wilson called me earlier. Hear you need a job.”

Bless that man’s soul, Bucky’s gonna murder him. “Kinda.”

“Good. Three guys quit on me after the fiasco down in Hell’s Kitchen, somethin’ about a man in a black mask. Not sure what happened, but whatever. C’mon in, we’ll get you set up. Don’t mind getting a little dirty, do ya?”

Bucky blinked. “That’s a little fast. And no, I don’t mind.”

“Good, good. I’ll get all your paperwork ready for you to take home tonight. Know how to work a slicer?”

“Slicer?” Bucky followed the man through the sea of people. “Sure. Can’t be that hard.”

“Not really. A trained monkey could do it, but you know how they are about labor laws nowadays. Here we are.” They stop at a glass door. Schmidt’s Deli. Bucky grinned. Now _this_ is something he could work with. _Hell yes. PASTRAMI._ “My name’s Saul, by the by. Saul Schmidt. This is my place. Got a few good ones here, they’ll keep you in line. How are you with people?”

“People suck.” Bucky won’t lie. He didn’t like people much anymore.

“That they do. Customers, though, are usually nice. We got our regulars, they know what they like. Say, you make sandwiches?” Saul was talking a mile a minute the moment they walked through the doors. Bucky stopped listening because sweet baby Jesus, he can smell that he is in Heaven. This will do nicely. “Pete can help you if you don’t know what you are doing. Hey, Petey!”

A bald man’s head popped up over the counter. “What?”

“New guy!” Saul waved at Bucky. “He’s gonna take over where Mike and Harley left off. Show him the ropes, won’t ya?”

“No prob, Bob.” Pete motioned Bucky over behind the counter, and Saul headed to the back door, which Bucky assumed was his office. “Hello, man. What’s your name?”

“James.” Bucky swallowed. “Bucky.”

“Nice. Anything you don’t want me yelling at you when we are busy?”

“Uh. Jimmy?”

“Works for me. Ey, Pauly!” Pete cranked his head around. “Pauly!”

“What?” A much taller man suck his head out of a swinging door. “Whadda want, dickface?”

Oh, man. Bucky’s gonna love it here. Sam isn’t as much of an asshole anymore. “Probably not dickface, either.” He said this with a smile. “Asshole works, though.”

“Ok, asshole Bucky.” Pete’s grin is golden. Literally. His teeth were capped gold. “Pauly, we got us fresh meat!”

“Yay!” Pauly rubbed his hands together. “Gonna have so much fun breaking you in, man. So much fun." 

Ok. Maybe not going to love it here.

 

 

 

 

By the end of the day, Bucky knew he was going to fucking _love_ working with Petey and Pauly. The two of them were quite a pair. Pauly’s idea of ‘breaking’ Bucky in was sticking him on the register all day, which considering the admittedly frightening amount of cutlery and the huge fryer in the corner was a blessing despite him being shit at counting. But the regulars were patient, and he made a few tips over the course of the day. Petey told him he can pocket the stuff handed right to him, but the jar gets split up between them. Bucky spent hours shouting orders and squinting to see if it was a really dirty penny or a really, really dirty dime and letting his mouth water over the smell of fresh pastrami. Really fresh. As in - “Hey, you guys make your own pastrami, right?”

Petey shared a glance at Pauly. “Yeah.”

Bucky turns his back to the register. It was clearly a slow time, and he wanted to rest his back, so he leaned against the lip of the counter and crossed his arms. “What’s that? What’s that about? It smells like heaven, guys!”

“It is!” Pauly side-eyed Petey again. “We just don’t mess with Ben.” He jerked a finger over his shoulder. “He’s jumpy.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Jumpy?”

“Another recommendation from the VA, y’know?” Petey nodded his head, agreeing with himself. Bucky got a cold spark down his back. “Hell, we all are. Saul likes to help us out, help us help ourselves. He’ll hire a shithead like Pauly - scared of his own shadow when he started here, though everyone comin’ through that door was a terrorist or somethin’. Me, I couldn’t get a good job at Customs with a peg leg.” He pulled his pant leg up and let Bucky stare in wonder at a prosthetic leg. The cold spark turned into something warmer as Bucky met Petey’s eyes again. “Figured you for a vet, too. The way you’ve been watching people like they’re gonna bite ya.”

“People suck.”

“They do.” Petey held out his _left_ hand to shake. “Welcome to the dysfunctional squad of Schmidt’s Deli, James. No relation to Mr. Red Skull.”

Bucky huffed, and bit the bullet. His metal hand gripped Petey’s....not human hand? Bucky stared at it, then stared at Petey again.

“IED in Iraq. I’m the lucky one. No one else made it. Either died there or blew their heads off stateside.” Petey sighed. “Left side’s fucked. I could barely use these fucking things, and I didn’t care. But Saul gave me a chance. Now lookit me.”

Bucky swallowed. “You know who I am.”

“Saul told me. _Warned_ me. But in a nice way. He says, ‘Pete, don’t worry if he’s scared. He’ll come ‘round. Take care of him.’ And I am. I’m also warning _you._ Ben? He’s _jumpy._ And we don’t mess around with him.” Petey grimaced, looked back at Pauly. “I know you come from a time where things were different. Food might taste different. Just don’t put down Ben’s baby.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Is this an elaborate ‘I’m Old’ joke?”

“Wish it was.” Pauly said. “Ben’s really protective of his family’s recipe.”

Bucky snorted. “Well, hell, that’s good! That means he might know what he’s doing!”

A shadow fell over Bucky just then, and a deep voice growled, “What did you just say?”

Every single instinct inside of Bucky scrabbled to take hold simultaneously; hard-won street smarts told him to turn around and address the asshole giving him shade, hard-earned battle instincts yelled at him to get down and away from the threat, and the Asset in the midst of it all whispered _‘Kill him, escape and report to your handlers. Complete the mission.’_ He kept his eyes forward, aimed at Petey and Pauly. Their eyes were trained above his head. Bucky sighed and tamped down everything but that smart-ass kid from Brooklyn. “What’s it to you, big guy?” He turned around and looked up.

And looked _up_.

“Holy shit, yeah. Big guy.” He licked his lips. “You Ben?”

“Yes, I am.” Ben was a brick wall. No, he was the _Berlin_ Wall. A giant black guy with blood and grease stains all over his white apron, holding a fuck-all huge knife in one sledgehammer fist.

Well, Bucky wasn’t ever a man to back down from a challenge. “I wanna try your best, see if it’s as good as the bad ol’ days. I wanna make sure I’m selling the best shit around, y’know?” The whole day, his old DUMBO accent has been creeping up on him. “Keep on the up an’ up.” He wanted to keep talking, to keep this Ben guy from burying his cleaver into his neck.

Suddenly, all three guys started laughing, startling the few office workers that walked through the door. Bucky swung his head wildly, trying to get a clue as to what was happen...ing… “Oh, fuck me. You were _kidding_!”

“Shit, James, you were halfway between shitting your pants and clocking the sonovabitch!” Petey gasped for air, his hands on his knees. “Dude, you are scary as fuck!”

Bucky didn’t have to fake clutching at his chest, trying to calm himself down. “I’m expecting a fuckin’ scrawny old Vietnam vet with a smack problem, not the fuckin’ lovechild of The Rock and that huge ass dude from The Green Mile! I literally have three knives on me right now, I will gut you both!” That only made them laugh harder. A paw landed on his shoulder and squeezed.

“Sorry ‘bout that. They get a kick out of it.” Ben has a nice, white smile. Bucky blinks up at him. “Want to try the meat?”

“Why not?”

For the record, the meat? Fucking _fantastic._

 

 

 

 

A couple days into it, Bucky was feeling pretty good. He was already remembering the repeat orders. Slicing meat for sandwiches was probably the simplest job there. Cleaning everything up was more of a hassle, but thanks to his super-strength or whatever he could just pick a slicer up and clean under it instead of messing with the contraptions. That always gathered onlookers and extra tips. He was leaning against the counter and debating benching one of the ovens just to see if he can’t get a fifty out of one of the elderly businessmen when he nearly threw up.

Potts and Stark sauntered through the glass door. Bucky wanted to jump into the meat grinder. He wanted to climb into one of the cabinets, he wanted to do something stupid and get himself fired on the fuckin’ spot _god he’s so stupid why is he here why is he working in Stark fuckin’ Towers like he has the right to touch people’s food_ -

“Yo, Petey! I’m hungry!”

Pete didn’t even turn around. “Hangover food?”

“Let’s go with ‘I’m too sober for board meetings’ food, buddy. It’s too early and I want real food. The event last night had tiny sandwiches with extravagant names. Rogers stared at them.” Stark leaned on the counter, giving Pete his real smile. Potts had her nose buried in a tablet, but she smiled as Pete started throwing together a mish-mash of different things, too fast for Bucky to follow. But then, Bucky was too busy willing himself invisible. “Then again, Rogers stares at everything. Wonder if it’s a old person thing?” Potts elbowed him. “Ow, thank you. Totally an old person thing.” Potts elbowed him with feeling, leaving Stark rubbing his ribs. “Owie! No sandwich for you.” She glared at him. “And make that double, Petey, Pep is hungry too.” Bucky stood there like a deer about to get creamed on the freeway. _Don’t look at me, don’t look at me…_ Stark turned his head. “Hey. You got a new guy?”

Pete grinned and pointed his knife at Bucky, something Bucky had to get used to fast. “Yep! His name’s James. Don’t call him Jimmy, he don’t like that. War vet. Highly recommended. Love the guy already. Strong work ethic.”

Stark really looked at him. “War vet, huh? Saul likes to hire you guys. Not that I mind, I’m big into that sort of thing. Second chances, whatever. So, you like it here in the Tower, James?”

Bucky shrugged, knowing Stark expected him to speak. “Yeah, it’s not too bad. Little high class for someone like me.” Stark’s eyebrow lifted. _Oh, fuck me._

“Yeah, that boy’s pure Brooklyn - Brooklyn the way it used to be. God I miss Brooklyn.” Pete wrapped up two sandwiches and grabbed two sodas out of the icebox. “Here ya go, bossman and bosslady. Have a good’un!” 

“Yeah, hate meetings. Might blow something up for fun. Is it sad that I’m hoping something happens that Iron Man is needed for? See ya around, James!” Stark waved at him and walked away. Bucky ran to the back, puked his guts out, and shook in the corner, watching Big Ben work his magic with top round.

 

 

 

 

Steve’s phone jangled at him as he contemplated which color to throw at the wall next. He ignored the text message and chose lavender.

It jangled again as he flicked black in strategic spots with his fingers. Another text.

Steve collapsed in a chair against the opposite wall after a while and took in the mess he turned the wall into. Maybe not a mess. He cocked his head. Yeah, that was just about right. It felt good, cleansing, to look at. Release. Nothing left behind on the field. Everything’s right there, plain as day. He closed his eyes.

“What the hell are you doing, Rogers?”

Steve nearly fell off the chair. Instead, he got up and brushed his hands on his paint-stiff jeans. “Why are you judging me, Stark?”

“Not judging. Just curious about the Pollock phase you seem to have unleashed on your living room wall.” Tony leaned against the bookshelf. He looked strange.

Steve shrugged and turned back to the wall. “Guess I’m just frustrated.”

“Frustrated. Huh.” Tony took in the wall. “Yeah. Feels like it. Why do you have to be amazing at everything you do?”

Steve frowned. “What?”

Tony waved his hand at the mess of paint. “That is better than a Pollock, and I have Pollock. I have a lot of Pollock. This? This is better. I kinda want to sit and stare for a while, so I’m just gonna -” he sat down on the chair Steve vacated and leaned back, hands on his thighs - “sit here.”

“Ah. Uh, okay?” Steve toed the plastic over the carpet. “Thanks?” He looked at the wall too. “Frustrated.” The whole room reeked of interior paint, he didn’t even notice. “I’ll open a window or something.” He tore down the sheeting over the window and cracked the panes.

“Barnes is working at the little deli in my building, did you know that?”

Steve turned around. “Sam told me. We didn’t know how you’d feel about that. Kinda hoped the Tower was big enough that the two of you wouldn’t run into each other.”

“Yeah. That didn’t work. So. Elephant in the room.” Tony kept facing the wall painting. “One, I’d like to buy your wall off you. Two, the Winter Soldier is making sandwiches in my tower. I’d like to have a freak-out about that, but I don’t think I’m going to. I don’t know what that says about me as a person, and I frankly don’t care. But if it’s all the same to you, I want your wall. I also want you to actually talk to James and figure out how he came to be in my Tower without actually _being_ at my Tower. And can you paint for me? I’d like to have your work all over everything I own. Don’t know why, don’t care why. I’m having a few epiphanies today. People-related epiphanies, you see why I’m feeling like I’m falling without the suit? I don’t do people, and yet here I am, discovering that Barnes is making sandwiches instead of hiding and or killing people at the same time that I am discovering that you have an hidden and untapped artistic potential that is making me want to cry and give all my money to you as long as you paint for me. Can you do expressionism? You seem more abstract, though. I’d kill to get something like that from you. Think you could do that? Does Barnes paint? Could get inside both your heads with paint, that’d be...terrifying, actually. Wow. Can I have your wall?”

Steve blinked. “I…” He looked to the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“I’ll settle for a beer, sure.” Tony grinned. “Beer is acceptable while I try to figure out how to remove your wall.”

 

 

 

Sam relaxed back on his couch. “So you said yes?”

Steve groaned and collapsed on Sam’s loveseat. “What could I say? Stark really wanted my wall! I was just getting some frustration out and didn’t feel like going to the supply store for plywood and white paint. And -”

“The wall was right there,” Sam finished with him, a smirk on his face.

Steve nodded. “Yeah. Wall. And now I have a check made out in my name for a quarter million bucks and Stark wants me to paint everything for him. So suddenly I have the one job I’ve always wanted. Painting shit for rich people and getting paid for it.” He snorted. “Took me long enough.”

Sam grinned. “I love you, man. I really love you.”

“Thanks.” Steve snorted again. “Do you love me enough to help me find a new place? I think it’s an important wall.”

“Naw. Just maybe have his builders come in and install some sort of -”

“Breakfast bar!” Steve pointed at Sam.

“See? We are on the same page.” Sam nodded. “Man, we are on fire.”

“Also, I said yes to visiting Bucky at the deli.”

Sam winced. “Ouch.”

“What’s ouch about it? It’s not like he’s gonna rabbit.”

“Saul called me and told me Bucky’s reaction to Stark showing up.”

“Bad?”

“He puked in the garbage can and stayed in back for the rest of the day stealing pastrami from the cook and declaring himself unfit for duty between slices of sourdough bread and beer.”

It was Steve’s turn to wince. “Whoops.”

“Yeah.”

“So, now?”

Sam heaved himself up. “Let me get shoes and my wallet.”


End file.
